


Götterdämmerung

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John felt Radek's hand on his shoulder.  "Will you hinder us?" Radek asked him, earnest and somber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Götterdämmerung

John stared at his clasped hands on the table before him. He heard Woolsey sigh, and Keller hiccup a muffled sob. Radek had left earlier without saying a word, but Rodney hadn't interrupted his rant until Keller had spoken his name. Now his empty chair spun and crashed into the conference table.

Shit.

He took a deep breath.

Woolsey said, "I'm sorry, John."

He shrugged and stood up. "I'll check on, on the others." He didn't speak to Keller, or Lorne, or the other science department heads and project leads who hadn't fled Woolsey's news or Rodney's anger. They sat slumped over the table, or stared at each other, shock and dismay and, yes, anger on their faces.

He went to the main science lab first. In the early days, the large room had been the primary lab due to energy conservation and, he knew, a desire to be near others when they were so far and so irrevocably distant from Earth. Now it was just habit, he supposed.

Radek was there, back to the door. His head was bowed and his hands were shoved into his science blue trousers. The scientists who reported to him and Rodney were clustered around him, and John saw that Miko held Radek's glasses. They were talking quietly.

Parrish glanced over Radek's shoulder at John, then said something to Radek. Radek cleared his throat and took his glasses from Miko, then shooed his colleagues away. He walked to John and said, "Outside, please."

John followed him to the nearest balcony, a place where he and Rodney had often taken breaks. They looked straight out to sea; to see Atlantis required some twisting, though he could hear waves breaking below at the base of the city, and for those reasons John especially liked it here.

Both he and Radek clasped the railing, cool beneath John's hands. They stood silently, staring across the grey and glinting water. John pursed his lips, trying to think what to say, when Radek spoke.

"I was a baby during the Prague Spring," he began quietly. John bent nearer. "My parents were engineers, but my father played in a band and my mother painted. They had musician friends, and people in the theatre. The celebration during those early days was, my mother told me, as though the air had turned to helium -- everything felt light and happy and free."

He finally looked at John. "You know what happened, I trust? I know Americans aren't big on history, but --"

"I know," John said.

Radek nodded. "It all ended. My mother's best friend was imprisoned. My father's cousin was killed. My parents carried me into the streets to witness the tanks -- yes, a little baby, out with them in the heat of August, not that I remember.

"Sometimes it seems as though I do remember; I've heard about it so often, from so many people. Did you know that seven thousand tanks rolled into the city? Their weight damaged the streets. People were beaten and wounded and killed. Arrested. Imprisoned. Disappeared."

"Radek," John started, but he shook his head.

"No, listen. I was twenty-two in 1989, in grad school at what is now the Czech Technical University in Prague. The University had been ruthlessly purged and reorganized after the second world war, but I was desperate to avoid military service. I studied hard, with good teachers, some who could not officially serve as faculty.

"It was," he added meaningfully, "a difficult time, when anyone could be a member of the Státní bezpečnost, and anything one said or did could result in disappearing into Domeček. Those were bad times, John."

"I know a little bit about them," he protested, but mildly, because he could see how urgent this was to Radek.

"Yes, yes, but _think_, John." Radek stared up at him. John could see his glasses were spattered by seaspray. "Think! You are asking me -- _they_ are telling me to give up my freedom again. Again! They are making us go back and to do what? What do you think Rodney and I will be forced to do?"

John opened his mouth, but could only shrug.

"Exactly. This is an _evil_ thing, John, and you know it. _You know it_, Richard knows it, all the scientists know it, and I suspect many under your command know it."

John rested his elbows on the railing now, and stared back out to sea, at the almost invisible line that separated sea from sky. He didn't know how to respond to Radek. He didn't want any of this.

He felt Radek's hand on his shoulder. "Will you hinder us?" Radek asked him, earnest and somber.

John felt knocked off balance, as if the balcony on which they stood were swaying in the breeze. He finally said, "Of course not. No, Radek, Jesus."

Radek nodded. "I hoped not. Then you must close your eyes, and your ears." To John's surprise, Radek hugged him. Awkwardly, John patted his back, and then watched as Radek returned indoors.

"Shit," John muttered, and left to find Rodney.

But he was stopped by first one person and then another, until he gave up and spent the time listening to fears and being questioned circuitously, as if they thought he wouldn't guess their intentions. Scientists and support services and his own people stopped him as he wandered the corridors.

But they were _all_ his own people, he thought later, after talking to what seemed like every person in Atlantis. They all said the same things: How could this happen? Why now? Why so quickly? He was starved but he couldn't face the mess hall and everyone who'd be there, so he swung by his own quarters where he had soft drinks and granola bars and apples. He paused, then shoved extra into his jacket pockets and strode to Rodney's door. He paused outside; he could hear Rodney's voice. Was someone in there with him? He listened harder, but heard no one else.

The door slid open. Rodney was alone, packing. He stared at John for a moment, then returned to his task. "Hungry?" John asked, holding out an apple.

"It's bullshit," Rodney replied. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting nonstop since he'd stalked out of the staff meeting; he probably had, John reflected. No doubt he'd been in the lab as well. "It's fucking bullshit, and I'm not going. I'm not going to do this, I won't." He spun around to glare at John. "Do you know what I've been doing out here? All these years in Pegasus?"

"Saving our asses?" John asked, hoping to appease him.

"Besides that? As part of that? What I and Radek and Miko and Simpson and all the physicists and engineers have been doing? Energy, John. Clean energy that's for all intents free. What do you think a ZPM is? Do you know what that would mean for us? For Earth? And you know what I'll be forced to do back on Earth? Commodification and militarization of what we've discovered here. Free energy isn't worth pursuing because it can't be bought and sold. It's the coca-colonization of Atlantis.

"It's crazy. They're crazy." Rodney stopped, staring at John, who thought _he_ looked crazy. "I'm so angry. They are so fucking stupid. The world -- Earth -- is _dying_, John. It's fucking _dying_. We are over the carrying capacity. The oceans are acidifying. The thermohaline circulation is shutting down. Anthropogenic climate change is a fact and people are arguing over it! Like it's a movie and every opinion has the same value -- it's dangerously stupid and I can't, I just fucking can't." He collapsed onto the bed, sitting on the clothes he'd piled there, still staring up at John, his blue eyes wide. Jesus. John didn't know what to say, so he just stared back.

Rodney put a hand to his forehead, as if he had a headache, and said, "CO2 levels. Particulate matter in the atmosphere. Ozone depletion. Deforestation. Deglaciation. It's all happening, and it's all happening at once, and it's happening fast. Maybe Earth's already reached the tipping point, I don't know, but the work I do here -- that all of us do here -- could stop that. But my fucking assignment? Is to retrofit Wraith technology so it'll work with Asgard technology, so we can get places faster so we can kill people faster. No, so they can _sell_ the hardware. The purpose of warfare is warfare -- who said that?"

"Rodney," John tried, because Rodney was talking faster and faster, the speed-talking he engaged in when stressed or frightened or angry. John thought he was all three at once.

"I thought it would be different now, with your new president. President of the fucking world, hope and change, Jesus fucking Christ, what bullshit, not that my country is much better, or anybody else's for that matter, except maybe Bhutan, and what the hell can they do? Fuck! The air on Earth is full of poisons. The water is full of poison. The soil. Everything is poisoned, everything is fucked, and they want us to make bigger guns. Guns or butter, always go for guns. And I've had it, I'm sick of it, I've done this for how many years? And it's enough. It's done. I'm done." He put both hands over his face now, and John saw they were trembling, as Radek had trembled on the balcony earlier.

"Rodney," John said more softly, and cautiously approached. When Rodney didn't start up again, he sat next to him. After a moment, Rodney sighed, and slumped until they were leaning against each other. He felt cold to John, little micro-shudders shooting through his body until John couldn't stand it and put his arm around Rodney's shoulders.

When Rodney finally pulled his hands away from his face and looked at him, John said, "I think Radek has a plan."

"I know he does; we made it together."

"He asked me to keep my eyes closed."

"Yeah. Yeah, that was the original plan."

"But not anymore."

Rodney stared at John. It felt as though he were studying John the way he would a new technology: calculating and thoughtful and curious. At last he said, "Despite appearances, you are not a stupid man."

Almost in a dream, John said, "Not really, no."

"Help me pack. Then I'll help you."

"What about --"

"It's a good plan, John. Let it unfold."

John's heart sped up, a kick in the chest, and his stomach twisted. He'd been in the military a long time; he knew what could happen. He started to shake his head, but Rodney said, "I wish Elizabeth were here _so much_," and the memory of her loss was another shock. Then Rodney said, "If she were here, you'd listen to her. She knew, she was in on this, it was our fallback, our Plan B. We need you, John." Rodney put one hand on John's knee and gripped it almost painfully tight. He whispered, barely audible, "I need you."

John's throat was too tight to respond. "Yeah," he was finally able to say, just as Woolsey's voice came over his earpiece.

"Colonel Sheppard, could you come to the mess?"

This was not what he expected. "The mess?" he repeated stupidly. "Yeah, sure." He stood, pulling Rodney up with him. They both needed to eat, and some of the stout Athosian tea would help Rodney's throat. "Come on," he said.

The mess, he discovered, was crammed full, every seat taken and most of the tables had people sitting on them as well. As they paused in the wide entrance, John looking for Woolsey, he realized the room was divided. Most people were near the windows, but a much smaller group had settled closer to them, as if to be able to escape quickly. The divide was subtle but clear, and he saw Rodney had seen it. Jennifer Keller was in the smaller group. Rodney nodded stiffly at her but didn't speak. In the larger group were most of Rodney's scientists, including Radek, and Miko who fixed her eyes on John with a hopeful expression that made him take a step back. Lorne was there as well, and Stackhouse, and Radner, and many others all watching closely, including Ronon, standing with his arms crossed and towering over Lorne, and Teyla, frowning a bit.

Woolsey hovered in the slight no-man's land between the two groups, nervously twisting his Grey Dog coffee mug so the cartoon dog heads appeared and disappeared between his fingers. He took a step toward John, glancing hesitantly at Rodney. John kept his hand on Rodney's forearm and drew him toward Woolsey. "Richard," he said softly, aware that everyone in the mess hall had stopped talking and was watching them.

"Colonel, Doctor McKay. I, um, I've been called back to Earth, effective immediately." He paused and cleared his throat. "You'll be in charge of the city, Colonel." He stared into John's eyes, and John realized that Richard was trying to tell him something.

"Okay," John said slowly.

"Completely in charge," Richard said again. "While I'm gone. Which will be for quite a while, I believe."

"Okay." John felt Rodney stir so he gripped his forearm harder. "We'll keep the old girl safe and sound."

"Of course, of course." He paused, and the silence in the large room was so profound that John could hear the breakers below them. "Um, a few others have decided to return with me." He gestured toward the smaller group. Rodney made a sound, almost a moan, and John realized that Keller was among those returning. John calculated quickly; just over three hundred lived in the city now, and the group returning held about fifty. John saw in addition to their Chief Medical Officer, a nurse, Lisa Perkins; one of the gate technicians, Drew Aspinberger; Lance Corporal Manny Pirante, whose wife had just had a baby girl; his favorite baker, Sergeant Elouise Clarke; Lieutenant Philippe Murat from the Aviation Légère de l'Armée de Terre, whom John was sorry to see go because he was one of their best pilots; Jan Otta, a distant cousin of Radek's, also an engineer -- good people, every one of them, and people he didn't want to lose.

But they were leaving. Leaving for good, he knew, knew to his bones, leaving him and Rodney and the rest of Atlantis.

He turned his back on them and leaned toward Woolsey, saying very quietly, "You don't have to go." Beside him, Rodney, abruptly gone from shouting to silence, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two groups, snorted.

Richard gazed into his mug. Shook his head.

"Don't be stupid," John whispered, frowning.

"What am I supposed to do?" Richard hissed. "Just say no? John, I don't have a choice here."

Rodney turned even redder. He looked at Jennifer, then at Richard, and then at John. "Oh for god's sake," he burst out. "You are not that stupid, I don't care what I said before, you aren't." He was panting, furious, pointing at Woolsey. "John's right, you don't have to go." He swung to face the others, including Jennifer. "You don't have to go." His voice trailed off as he saw their faces.

John pulled Rodney's pointing hand down. "Yeah, they do," he said quietly. "You can't come back," he told them, speaking as mildly as he could. His heart was racing and he had to control his breathing or he'd be huffing and puffing like Rodney. "Ever. The gate will be closed to you."

Their faces were already closed, he saw; they had decided long ago, just as he had decided never to leave even though he wasn't conscious of ever having made that decision. He tapped his mic. "Sergeant? Dial up the gate for Earth." Looking at Woolsey, he held out his hand. "Good working with you, Richard. But you need to leave right now."

"My things -- oh, yes, of course, right now." Richard turned to the others who began to stir, looking at their friends across the narrow divide that was soon to become impassable. "Right now," he repeated. Jennifer stood, staring pleadingly at Rodney, but John put his hand back on Rodney's arm. Then she left with the others, more alien to John than anything in the Pegasus Galaxy. Richard said, "Take care, Colonel. I will never forget you, this place, this time."

John nodded, watching them walk away. He counted them as they filed into the corridor toward the transporter that would take them to the gateroom: one, two, three . . . forty-seven. Forty-seven good people, gone forever. At least Rodney was here, and Radek, and Miko, and so many others, and Lorne, thank god, John thought fervently. Still here.

When the last of the forty-seven had disappeared, John tapped his mic again. "Over the PA, Sergeant," he said, and then he could hear the chevrons firing, the hum of the gate, and then the vortex boiling out. Beneath that, silence. No farewells, no arguments, nothing. Within minutes, he heard the gate shutdown, and then Chuck said, "Sir?"

"Iris up, Sergeant," John told him. "Have everyone report to the mess hall."

He met Rodney's eyes and together they faced the remaining inhabitants of the city of Atlantis. "Well," John said.

"Good riddance," Rodney said bitterly, his mouth twisting. "Now can we get to work?"

* * *

Posted 19 February 2010;  
Word Count: 2,887


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